


looking for normal (but finding shards of glass)

by snarkymuch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Needs a Hug, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: Peter had a problem, one that started slowly and quickly tumbled out of control. He never meant it to happen, but regrets were like wishes and worth little in the end.OrAnon on tumblr prompted me for some drug addict Peter and of course I had to oblige.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 70
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

Peter had a problem, one that started slowly and quickly tumbled out of control. He never meant it to happen, but regrets were like wishes and worth little in the end. 

It started after the snap to bring everyone back, after nearly losing Tony on the battlefield. The nightmares haunted him every time he closed his eyes, a million other ways things could have gone. He’d had the fate of the world in his hands as he had carried the gauntlet. One wrong move and Peter would have been responsible for their loss. 

It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, or maybe it wasn’t coping at all. May had suggested he talk to a therapist, but Peter had brushed her off, telling her the things she needed to hear, that he was sleeping, though he wasn’t, that he didn’t see the dead when he closed his eyes, even though he did. He’d never forget the bodies or the smell of burning flesh. They might have won, but people died, people were hurt. 

Tony was hurt, but then, at least he was alive. Scarred but healing. 

Recovering from battle meant that Tony was busy and not looking too closely, which was how Peter managed to avoid his attention, which was how no one noticed when Peter tried drugs for the first time. 

He'd gotten the heroin from a drug dealer he’d webbed up. It hadn’t been his plan to keep it, but he found himself gripping the baggie in his hand and swinging away. There was a thrill to keeping it, instead of making sure it went to the police. It had taken him a few hours at home to decide to use it, and another hour of googling to realize he’d need some supplies to make that happen. In the end, he had tucked it under his mattress and made the decision to find a needle and lighter the next day. 

The next day came after a fitful sleep, guilt and curiosity warring in him. May went to work and wouldn’t be back until morning. It was the weekend, so he didn’t need to worry about school, and the only thing he could think about was whether the drugs would give him any relief, any bit of freedom and happiness in the darkness he was living. 

He sat on his bed with the bedroom door closed even though no one else was home. He arranged the syringe, spoon, lighter, and baggie of drugs on the mattress. The water he’d need to dissolve the heroin was on the nightstand, a room temperature bottle of Poland Spring. 

From everything he’d read, he estimated that he’d have plenty of time to come down before morning. That was if this even worked with his metabolism. Regular pain pills barely worked on him, and heroin was an opiate in the same family. 

Checking the time on his phone, he steeled himself to start. Following all the steps he’d seen on YouTube, and you really could learn anything on the internet, he prepped the drug in the spoon and then drew the top layer of the solution off the spoon. The whole process reminded him of chemistry class. 

He let out a shaky breath as he studied the contents of the needle and then put the spoon and lighter and baggie away in his nightstand. 

It was just him, the syringe. 

“Shit,” Peter said, as he realized he needed a tourniquet. 

Setting the needle down on the mattress, he rummaged through his closet for something to use. With a thudding heart and shaky hands, he found his tie from homecoming and, with a moment’s hesitation, grabbed it and went back to the bed. 

Pushing down his fears, he knotted the tie around his upper arm as tight as he could and uncapped the needle. 

Doing like the videos said, he found a vein, inserted the needle, and then drew back to get blood. He depressed the plunger fully, his hyper-aware senses feeling the tepid mixture in his vein. When the syringe was empty, he recapped it and tossed it on his nightstand, loosened the tourniquet, and laid back on against his pillows. 

He immediately felt a rush. It reminded him a little of his super pain pills that Bruce had designed but more intense. His mouth went a little dry, and his skin flushed. When he tried to move his arms, they felt heavy. 

He let his eyes close and enjoyed the feeling of heavy warmth envelop him. His thoughts, which had been dashing around his brain, slowed to cold molasses, and he relished the freedom from his chaotic, depressing mess that was his mind.. 

Feeling relaxed and floaty, he let himself drift off to a dreamless sleep. 

XXX 

Over the next few weeks, Peter tried to explain away his hunt for more drug deals to interrupt as just being a diligent hero, doing his part, but secretly he knew that it was because he wanted more drugs, and that was the easiest way to get them. 

He always waited until May was working the overnight to use, and each time it got easier, the motions of preparing the drug becoming like second nature. His healing factor hid what would have been track marks on his arm, and the drug was wiped from his system by his high metabolism soon after taking it, so it didn’t seem like much of a risk. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t know what he was doing was wrong. On some level, he did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find reasons to make it less of a bad thing and more positive. It was honestly hard to argue with the benefits, not when on nights he used to struggle with his dreams, he now got real sleep. It finally gave him a little peace. 

As weeks of using turned to months, Peter’s appetite slipped, and his demeanor started to change. Living became about when he could get high next, and the waiting made him irritable, and even May noticed. 

“How many days in a row do you plan on coming home and slamming your bedroom door?” May asked from the doorway to his room. 

He’d wanted to come straight home and shoot up, but May had changed her shifts this week and was home the last few nights, including this one. It meant he couldn’t risk doing it. If she caught him using, he didn’t want to think about what she’d do. His spider-manning days would be over. And she’d tell Tony, who didn’t need the stress. Honestly, Peter wasn’t sure who he feared finding out more, May or Tony. Neither was an option. He needed to play it safe even if that meant going without for a few days. 

And going without shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was finding his skin itched, and he couldn’t make his muscles relax. The only thing that gave him some relief was moving, but he worried that alone might be enough for May to catch on. She’d worked in the ER enough to recognize the symptoms of withdrawal, though maybe she wouldn’t believe Peter would ever have a reason to go through that. 

“Sorry, May. I haven’t been sleeping that much lately.” He fought the urge to bounce his leg. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” He tried to stop himself from scratching his arm, but his fingers still twitched. “I’ll do the dishes tonight.” 

May pushed her glasses up her nose, eyes roving over him. Finally, her shoulders dropped, and she sighed. “Fine, thank you. I’m making meatloaf tonight. It’ll be ready in an hour. I expect you to make an appearance.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be out. Sorry again for acting like a jerk.” 

She gave him a small smile. “Larb you.” 

“Larb you, too.” 

After dinner, Peter packed his kit and headed for the roof. He told May he was patrolling, but he didn’t even wear his suit. He took the stairs and went out to the chair over by the vent. May had gone to binge watch her favorite shows in her room, so she wouldn’t come looking for Peter if he was late. 

Shooting up on the roof wasn’t the best circumstances, but it was better than May walking in on him. If he didn’t take as much as usual, he could come down enough to go back inside before long. It would just take the edge off. That’s all he wanted. 

Sitting in the chair, he opened the small canvas bag and pulled out his supplies. He made quick work of the prep and was ready to inject in minutes. 

Once he depressed the plunger, he counted in his head until he hit five, and he was already feeling it. The awful twitching and ache in muscles faded, and he relaxed. Recapping the needle, he dropped it on the roof and closed his eyes, sliding down in the chair until his head was resting against the back. 

He nearly drifted off to sleep when he felt his pocket vibrate. It took him a minute to put together that it was his phone. He couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to answer, though, so he just waited it out. 

A second later, the phone rang again, and again, he ignored it. 

The cool fall air stirred, and he scrubbed his hand over his face. Checking his watch, he saw it had been almost two hours since he came up to the roof. His head was still hazy, but he needed to get back. 

Grabbing his bag, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the side of the building, hopping over the side and scurrying over to the fire escape. He wasn’t sure if May would still be in her room, so he figured he should use his window since she thought he was patrolling. 

The next day, Peter felt a lot better, but he was feeling the need to use again by the end of the day. It was becoming harder and harder to get through the whole day. It started to worry Peter, he didn’t like giving over control, but he squashed the feeling down and focused on his homework. 

His phone came to life on the desk, and he glanced over at it. On the screen was the familiar image of the Iron Man helmet. He felt a rush of fear go through him, like if he answered, somehow Tony would know what he’d been doing. 

Before he could decide what to do, the phone went quiet again. He felt a little relief now that the ringing had stopped. 

He really should talk to Tony, though. Ignoring his calls was never good. It always made him more intense, more curious, pushier. Peter knew it was because he cared, but Peter didn’t need to be babysat. He’d been through so much, space, death, coming back, and fighting for the fate of the world. Of course, Tony wouldn’t agree with Peter’s coping technique, but it worked for him, and what harm was it doing? He was keeping the drugs off the street, away from someone who could overdose or be killed. He’d bet with his metabolism that he couldn’t overdose if he tried. 

His skin was starting to crawl, and he needed another fix. Kneeling down beside his bed, he shoved his hand between the mattress and box spring. When his fingers brushed over the flimsy plastic bag, he snatched it and pulled it out. Disappointment washed over him when he saw it was empty. He would have sworn he’d had some left. Had he really used it all? He knew he’d been using more, but it didn’t seem like that much. 

Crushing the bag in his hand, he tossed it into the wastebasket and let a heavy breath out his nose. What was he going to do? It wasn’t easy to find the right drug deals to get what he needed. It was always hit or miss what they would be dealing in. Working his jaw, he realized he didn’t have a choice. He was going to have to go out. 

Just as he went to his closet to get his suit, his phone came to life again, and Peter nearly growled at the interruption. He was focused on finding drugs. He didn’t have time to talk, and who called anyway? Why couldn’t they just text?

He forcefully swiped the phone from his desk, briefly glancing at the caller ID. It was Tony because, of course, it was Tony. The universe hated him. 

His muscles ached, and his hands shook as he held the phone in front of him. He swept to answer, bringing the phone to his ear, and squeezing his eyes shut like it would help him hide. 

“What?” Peter breathed before Tony could answer. The longer the call took, the longer he’d have to wait to get his next fix. 

“Is that how you’re answering your phone these days? I guess I wouldn’t know since this is the first time you’ve answered in weeks. Why is that, Peter?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a very Tony way. He tried to push down his annoyance. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Can this wait? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“I won’t lie and say that doesn’t hurt my feelings, Pete. I thought we were past this stuff, and since when do you call me Mr. Stark. It’s been Tony since, you know, Thanos and all that.”

Peter didn’t need a reminder. Peter had been calling him Tony more, but the formal moniker offered some distance, which right now, Peter needed. He felt caught out in the open, like at any moment, Tony would just know and call him out. He didn’t want to give up his new coping mechanism, no matter how controversial it might be. 

“We are past it,” Peter said honestly. 

“Do you know why I’ve been calling you?”

Peter sighed with a shrug. “I don’t know? You’re bored because Pepper won’t let you turn the toaster sentient?”

He heard Tony’s breathy chuckle on the other end. “Maybe a little of that, but more that May is worried. She called me a few days ago, telling me how you have changed. You’re snappier, angry, always seem tired. She even thought you’d been losing weight.”

Peter pursed his lips as his jaw ticked. “She shouldn’t have called you.”

“So you don’t deny what she’s saying?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Tony’s tone was firm when he spoke. “Don’t lie to me, Peter. Tell me what’s going on? Are you having trouble with nightmares again? Christ knows you’ve seen some shit.”

Peter stood there quietly, afraid to talk, afraid he might betray himself and say the wrong thing. 

“Answer me, kid.”

“I don’t have anything to say. I wasn’t handling things, dying, Thanos, coming back, but I’ve found something that’s working. It’s helping, so don’t worry about it.” He took a breath and tacked on a, “Please.”

It was Tony’s turn to be silent. A few seconds passed, then Tony cleared his throat. “I don’t know if that makes me worry more or less. It could just be me projecting, but I’m something of an expert on shitty coping mechanisms. Part of me thinks that if it wasn’t something to worry about, you’d tell me.”

“I can’t, please, just leave it,” Peter breathed.

“Okay,” Tony sighed. “Okay, we’ll do this your way, but if things get to be too much, call me. I’m always here for you, kid. I didn’t just bend time and space to get you back because you didn’t mean something to me. Promise me you’ll call.”

“If I need you, anything, I’ll call, but I swear, Tony, I got this.”

They ended the call, and Peter tossed his phone on the bed. Scrubbing a hand over his face and ruffling his hair, he pushed down his conflicting emotions and looked at his closet where his suit hung. It would all be better once he found some drugs. They’d make it all better. He’d be able to be himself, to think. Lying to himself was easy.

Patrol took him all over the city, but he couldn’t find any heroin. Weed didn’t do anything for him, and his metabolism burned through cocaine too fast to bother. As time went on, he felt the withdrawal more and more. It was like a caged beast inside him, clawing at his chest, tearing at his muscles. He felt the need to use burning through his very core. 

Panic started to build in him as he realized he might not find any. He didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t. Without any other ideas, Peter headed to an area that he knew people used. Maybe he could sneak some away from a passed out junkie. 

When he got there, he immediately saw someone. A woman was slumped by a dirty cardboard box, syringe still in her hand, spoon on the ground. She looked like she was sleeping. 

Taking a look around to make sure no one else was looking, he crept closer to her, eyes searching for leftover drugs. He caught the edge of a bag sticking out of her pocket. Relief flooded him. It wasn’t until he was tugging the bag out of her jacket that he realized she wasn’t moving at all, and he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. It was then that he saw how pale she was, lips tinged blue. 

There were a lot of things Peter knew he should do, call for help, make sure someone found her, a million other things, but what he found himself doing was snatching the bag the rest of the way from her pocket and clenching it in his fist. There wasn’t much, but it would be enough to take the edge off. Then he looked her over one last time and took off toward the rooftops. 

He made it a block before the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him, and he collapsed on a roof, down on all fours and panting, feeling his stomach roll. The image of the woman wouldn’t leave his mind. What was thinking? What was he becoming? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t Spider-Man. He didn’t recognize himself anymore. 

He pulled his mask off just in time for bile to come splattering on the gravelly roof. 

Spitting on the ground, he pushed himself up and sat back on his knees. His HUD was alive and active with his stats. His heart was beating a little too fast. He wondered how much was his emotional state and how much was withdrawal. 

The worst part was he was still holding the baggie, and he didn’t want to let it go, even though he knew how wrong it was to keep it. Was this what he’d come to? Scavenging drugs from the dead. At least when he was taking them from dealers, he could reason that he was saving a life, but that wasn’t the case anymore. How had he gotten here, and how did he get back?

He remembered his conversation only hours earlier. Pulling his mask back over his face, he thought about what he really wanted, and he knew in his heart that it was to be free again, but he was afraid that would never happen. If there was any hope of getting back to normal, there was only one option. Peter just hoped he’d understand. 

“Karen,” Peter’s voice broke, “call Tony.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys encouraged me to extend this, so I did. I gave you some whump, some withdrawals, and warning for some descriptions of puking.

The phone rang three times, just long enough for Peter to start to believe that Tony might not answer, but on the fourth ring, his mentor, his friend, a man as close to a father as Peter had, picked up. 

“Pete?”

Peter stared at the city lights, swallowing and trying not to choke on the mucus in his throat. “I think I want to take you up on that offer now,” he croaked. 

His stomach was cramping, and he felt nauseous. The baggie of drugs was burning a hole through his palm. 

Something clattered on the other end of the line. It sounded like a pan. He must have interrupted Tony cooking. The thought made him feel even sicker, like he was tainting Tony’s life with his own disease. 

“I told you I would be there for you. No matter what, kid. You’ve got me. You’ve got us all. Are you all alright? Are you safe right now?”

“I—I don’t know. I … Have you ever gotten so lost you didn’t think you could ever find your way back?”

“There’s a reason why I have AI’s, but I have a feeling that’s not what you mean. What’s going on, Peter? Or do you want me to come to you and talk in person? Because I can do that, too.”

“No, no. I think this is fine. It’s—it’s easier this way. I don’t think I could tell you if I had to see your face.”

“Ouch, kid. And here I thought I was pretty handsome.”

Peter didn’t laugh. 

“Okay, so not a good time for jokes. Whatever is going on, you can tell me, Pete. It can’t be that bad.”

Peter half sobbed, half laughed. “Yeah, you say that now. You don’t know just how bad I fucked things up this time, though.”

“Language.”

Peter shook his head, twisting his fingers together in front of him. His lashes were damp with unshed tears. “I did something really stupid, something I shouldn’t have ever done.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Mistakes happen.”

“Is it true what your Wiki says, that you used cocaine?”

He heard Tony sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t read that, I mean, what am I gonna do when Morgan can start Googling, but yes, I dabbled in a lot of things in my younger days. Should I guess where this is going, Pete? Is that what this is about? Have you been using drugs? I didn’t even think they worked on you.”

“Cocaine doesn’t, not really, weed either.”

“That’s not really comforting.” He could just imagine Tony pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, what’s your poison? Benzos? Drinking? I don’t think you’d get much out of Oxy’s given your metabolism—”

“Heroin,” Peter barely choked the word out. He cleared his throat and spoke into the hanging silence. “I didn’t mean to get addicted, but tonight I wanted to get high so bad I stole drugs off a dead body, and all I can think is what a monster I am. I’m wearing my suit, but I’m not spider-man. I’m not a hero.”

The swell of emotion was too hard to fight, and he found himself crying, making his mask damp against his face. 

“Peter,” Tony all but breathed his name. “Kid, this is—it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

“I’m scared, Mr. Stark. I don’t even know where I am, and I still have the drugs. I know I should throw them away, but I don’t think I can. I feel like shit. I feel like I’m dying, and I’m scared because I know it’s only going to get worse. Everyone is going to know. I don’t want people to know.”

“Okay, the first thing we need to do is get you safe. I’m pulling up your location right now and sending a car. It won’t be happy because it’s late, but I’ll make sure they’re covered by an NDA. No one will know that Spider-Man is getting a ride from Gatto’s Bodega to upstate New York.”

“What about May?”

“I’ll call her and cover for you tonight. We’ll get through tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll sort this out. Pepper and Happy can keep Morgan busy for a few days. It’s no biggie.”

“This seems like too much. I don’t know if I can do this. And you shouldn’t give up your time with Morgan for me. I don’t deserve that, not after what I’ve done. I did this to myself.”

“Enough of that, Pete. Am I happy that this has happened? No, but am I proud as hell of you for coming to me? Yes. You did something that some people can never do. You took the first step. That was something only you could do, kiddo. But the rest, the rest I’ll be right here with you. You’re not going through this alone.”

To add insult to injury, it started to drizzle, chilling Peter to the bone, but he didn’t turn on his heater. On some level, he felt like he deserved the cold. 

“What am I going to tell people?”

“Everything, nothing, whatever the hell you want, though I suggest telling May. I think she would be more understanding than you think.”

Peter shivered, and another painful cramp twisted his gut. His hands shook a little as he pushed himself to his feet, wiping them off on his legs. 

“Can you—nevermind. Forget it.”

“What do you need? Just tell me, and it’s yours, within reason. Let me do something here, kid. I might not sound it, but I’m stressing out a little. This all came as a bit of a surprise.”

“Just, would you tell May for me? Not tonight, but sometime soon. I don’t think—I can’t break her heart.”

“It’s going to break her heart no matter who it comes from, but yeah, I can do that for you.”

“Thanks. How much longer until my ride gets here?”

“Take a look off the east side of the building, towards the bodega. He should be pulling up any minute.”

Peter walked over to the edge of the roof and peered down at the street. A second later, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. That must be his ride. 

“I see him. I’ll swing down and meet him. Thanks for everything. I know this isn’t what you signed up for when you asked me to Germany.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t have any regrets.”

Tucking the baggie in his suit, he shot out a web and swung down to the street.

The ride to Tony's house was quiet. He didn’t know the driver, but Peter wasn’t in the mood to talk anyway. The rain was coming down in big, heavy drops by the time the car came to a stop on the gravel driveway. The driver opened the door for him, and he bolted to the house. 

The door opened before Peter could grab the knob, and Tony was pulling him inside. 

“You’re soaked. Come on, I got some spare clothes that should fit you. They’ll be a lot warmer than the suit.”

Peter pulled his mask off and ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it back up. The drugs he’d stuck in his suit were burning a hole through him. Tony was talking, but Peter wasn’t listening, too consumed with guilt for bringing heroin into Tony’s home, the home he shared with his four-year-old daughter. If Peter wasn’t a monster before, he definitely was one now. 

The whole point of calling Tony was to get help, change, and find some way to get back to normal, but he couldn’t do that if he lied. He knew what he needed to do. 

“—and we’ll talk to Bruce tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Peter said. “Sorry, I was zoning out a little. There’s—I need to tell you something, and you probably won’t like it.”

Tony’s eyebrows went up, and he scoffed. “I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed, but I’m not dead yet, so hit me with it, though I have trouble seeing how it could get worse.”

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched downward, and then he reached into his suit and took out the baggie. “I don’t know why I brought it. It just happened. I screwed up. I know I did.” He clenched the bag in his hand. “I just keep fucking up. I don’t know how to stop.”

Tony pressed his lips together, eyes locked on the baggie. “Okay, so full disclosure, I’m a little pissed that you brought that into my house, but I get it. I get it, Pete, and I’m not pissed at you. I am angry at the circumstances. You did the right thing telling me so we can make sure it’s disposed of.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Tony sighed, shoulders slumping. He looked tired, and Peter knew that it was on him. He was the weight wearing Tony down. “It’s Tony. We passed that, remember.”

“Yeah, okay, Tony. I can do that.” Peter looked down at the baggie in his hand. As much as he wanted to throw it out, he wanted to keep it, too. Part of him was regretting calling Tony, and he didn’t know why. If he’d just pulled himself together, he could have made it home and gotten his fix. But then again, maybe that was the addiction talking because it sure wasn’t Spider-Man, it sure wasn’t Peter Parker. He almost didn’t know himself anymore. “So, what do we do now?”

Tony put out his hand, palm up, wiggling his fingers. “Hand over the goods, and I’ll see they get destroyed tonight. I called May already, and she knows you’re staying over. I think right now, we need to get you changed and into bed.”

Peter placed the bag in Tony’s hand with a frown, and then the man looked it over before sticking it in his pocket. 

“Okay, follow me. Try to be quiet, Morgan is sleeping.”

While Peter changed into the clothes Tony loaned him, Tony went to dispose of the drugs, though he didn’t say how he was doing that. Peter wondered if he’d torch them, or maybe just flush them down the toilet. 

Once Peter was dressed in the warm sweats and hoodie, he sat on the bed and waited for Tony to reappear. He didn’t need to wait long. His mentor came back into the room a few minutes later with a tight smile. 

“How’re you feeling? Besides the emotional angst.”

Peter shrugged. “A little dizzy, shaky, nauseous, and my stomach keeps cramping. Oh, and it feels like ants are burrowing into my skin.”

Tony raised a brow. “Burrowing ants, huh? Can’t say I’ve heard of those before, but it all sounds pretty familiar. Par for the course when it comes to withdrawal.”

Peter groaned and flopped onto his side on the mattress. “This sucks. What if I can’t do this? This isn’t going to go away, is it? I might recover, but I’ll always be an addict.”

“Recovering addict.”

“Same thing.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his temple. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll deal with this tomorrow. Tonight just sleep.”

Peter wriggled under the covers and then looked up at Tony. “Are you gonna tell Pepper?”

Tony drew a breath, scrubbing his hand over his mouth as he let it out. Dropping his hand, he met Peter’s gaze. “Yeah, this isn’t something I can keep from her.”

Peter nodded. “Do you think it’ll change things?”

“Honestly, yeah, it probably will, at least for a little bit, but that doesn’t mean she cares about you any less. You're still her favorite young adult.”

“Can you not tell her about tonight? About bringing them here?”

“Yeah, I think we can keep that between the two of us for now.” Tony walked over to the bed and tucked the blanket tighter around Peter. “Try to get some sleep. Between Bruce and me and the specialists I’ve called, we’ll get this figured out. You’re not going through it alone.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“You’re as bad as Morgan. Then just rest your eyes. I can stay for a while if you want.”

“You’d do that?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

Despite his twisting gut, he managed to drift off into a fitful sleep. Tony sat in the wicker chair beside the dresser, watching him. Knowing he wasn’t alone eased some of his worries, making it easier to sleep. 

He didn’t get to rest long, though. He woke up with a start, clutching his stomach and swallowing thickly. Tony was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t Peter’s immediate concern. Right now, he needed to breathe and not puke all over the quilt on Tony’s guest bed. 

The nightlight in the ensuite bathroom cast just enough light through the door that Peter was able to make a dash for the toilet without stubbing a toe. He collapsed on his knees in front of it and, with shaky hands, just managed to lift the lid in time to empty his stomach. 

Deep, painful spasms tore through him, making his stomach ache and his throat burn. It felt like he was turning his insides out. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he shivered even though he was sure it wasn’t cold in the room. He just felt chilled, felt sick, and wrong, and it was all his fault. He brought this on himself. 

Groaning, he flipped the lever and flushed, leaning his head on the edge of the bowl, ignoring the splatters of vomit on the rim. He could feel it drying on his chin, but he was too tired, bone-tired, to do anything about it, even lifting his head felt like too much strain on his neck and body. 

His stomach still churned painfully, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He didn’t think he could survive another round of throwing up, not one as intense as the last. 

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything other than how he was feeling. He sniffled, and a tear rolled off his temple and dripped into the water. Everything felt so out of control. How could this be the right thing to do when it felt so bad? He didn’t know if he had the strength to make it through this. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps and the door to the bathroom opening. Peter blinked up at it from his position, laying against the toilet. He tried to lift his head, but he felt the room tip, and then he smeared his hand in some of the vomit on the edge of the bowl. 

Tony’s expression did a few funny things before softening. “Easy, kid, don’t move. Let me help.” Then he went to the cabinet and took out some washcloths, wetting them quickly in the sink. He knelt beside Peter and then first wiped his fingers and then the bowl's edge, tossing the cloth toward the hamper. He took another and dabbed off his chin. 

His actions warmed Peter’s chest, but he didn’t get long to relish that feeling because his gut twisted again, and with only a second’s warning, Peter was throwing himself over the bowl again to heave what little left he had inside his stomach. It hurt, yanking, pulling, awful pain, and it was only made worse by the fact he was now doing it in front of Tony, who shouldn’t have to see him like this. He shouldn’t be the one cleaning up Peter’s messes, literal and figurative. 

A warm, calloused hand gripped the back of his neck, squeezing gently, thumb working side to side, Tony trying to soothe the ache, make the situation better any way he could. “How long has this been going on?”

The retching stopped enough that Peter sank back on his knees. 

Tony wiped Peter’s mouth again, then briefly pressed the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead. “You’re really going through it, huh?”

“Yeah, it started—I don’t know. Seems like I’ve been puking forever.”

“It can feel that way. I talked to Bruce and made some calls. I guess you could say I’ve been making myself an expert on opiates in the last few hours. Let’s just say I pulled some major favors and greased some wheels. What I’m trying to say is, I got some Suboxone en route to the lake house. It should be here soon.”

“What’s that?” Peter all but croaked, his throat feeling like he’d gargled glass. 

“It’s something to help mitigate these withdrawal symptoms. Should work a treat.”

Peter brushed his hair away from his forehead. “So, I won’t feel like this anymore?”

“Hopefully not.”

“I think my stomach is done for the moment. I feel like I need a shower. I’m so sweaty and gross and cold.”

Tony tossed the washcloth he was still holding into the hamper and then stood, his knees popping audibly in the room. “Getting old.” He extended a hand to Peter, wiggling his fingers. “Let’s get you off the cold floor. That might help with at least one of your problems.”

Peter shifted and then grabbed Tony’s hands, letting the man help pull him to his feet. 

“Can I wash my face?”

“Of course, I’ll grab you a towel. Take your time. I’m gonna go call and check on the ETA of those drugs.” Tony took a towel out of the cabinet and set it on the edge of the sink. “I’ll be right back.”

After Tony stepped out of the room, Peter raised his eyes to look into the mirror. The kid looking back at him wasn’t one he recognized. There was no warmth in his cheeks, no light in his eyes. He looked hollow, dead, like a zombie. If this was as bad as he looked after only using a few months, what would have happened after longer? Would he ever be the same Peter Parker again?

Turning on the water, he bent over the sink and washed away the lingering sick. He wasn’t okay, far from it, but maybe someday he could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are all so awesome, I can't believe I have readers for this. so because you asked, here's another chapter that I didn't plan on writing. This is becoming a pattern. lol. no real warnings for this chapter, other than angst and feelings galore.

The Suboxone could not come soon enough. It was nearly four in the morning, and Peter was upstairs, twisted in the bed coverings, a sweaty, shaky, desperate mess. Tony had tried to offer him as much comfort as he could, but there was little he could do. The drugs were coming by a courier and should be there any time.

Just then, his driveway alarm chirped, and he heard tires on the gravel. Bolting for the door, Tony ran out to greet them. The man was just getting out of the car, holding a small, white pharmacy bag and an electronic signature reader. 

Tony jogged over to him, meeting him halfway. 

“Sign here,” the man said, holding out the stylus and nodding to the screen. 

Tony snatched it, scratching his name in jagged scrawl on the line. Passing back the stylus, he plucked the white bag from the guy's hand, calling out his thanks as he turned and ran back inside. 

Afterward, Tony realized he’d probably been expecting a tip. He’d have to make sure to send something along later. It was asking a lot to have a courier come out at this hour, but then again, he’d paid a lot for the service, too. 

Taking the stairs as fast as his knees allowed, Tony made his way back to Peter, pausing at the guest bedroom’s door to rap his knuckles against the wood to announce his return. 

He didn’t wait for a reply, letting himself into the room, heart clenching at the sight of Peter curled up on the bed. The kid looked like death warmed over. 

This was never something Tony thought Peter would be going through. Peter was always the best of them. The kid knew right from wrong. He made the good calls, yet here he was, going through withdrawals at Tony’s house in the middle of the night. 

God, Tony wished he understood what had been going through Peter’s head when he first thought to bring those drugs home and try them. Had he really been struggling that much? Tony knew the answer. It was evident by the sight in front of him now. Peter might have been hiding it well, but he hadn’t been coping, not in any way that he should have. Tony couldn’t help but blame himself for dropping the ball. He should have been watching out for his kid. This was on him. 

He shut the door behind him and then crossed the room. Peter looked worse the closer he got. The dark smudges under his eyes looked more profound than they had earlier in the bathroom, and now that he was looking closely, he could see Peter’s shoulders moving with faint shivers.

It was a miracle that he hadn’t hit withdrawals like this earlier. After talking with Bruce and bouncing around ideas, they realized what a tightrope Peter had been walking. With his metabolism, he must have been shooting up more than Tony wanted to think to avoid breaking apart like this. His metabolism burned so hot that going without for a day would be like going without for days to someone else, intensifying the withdrawals. 

Peter’s eyes opened to slits, and he looked up at Tony. “I don’t feel good.”

Tony tried to force a smile. “I got something that should help. You don’t even need to sit up.”

Tearing open the bag, he took out the box of Suboxone. He tossed the bag in the wastebasket and then pried open the box. Inside were twenty-eight little sachets, each containing a dissolving strip of medicine. 

Setting the extra medication on the nightstand, Tony opened one of the sachets and withdrew the strip, dropping the wrapper in the trash. He held it between his fingers, crouching down beside the bed.

“Hey, Peter. I need you to open up and lift your tongue. I’m gonna put the medicine under it. All you need to do is sit there and not talk and let it melt. No chewing or doing anything with your tongue. Just let it dissolve. Can you do that?”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes opening a little more. “This won’t make me puke?”

“Nope, it should settle things down. At least, I’m really hoping it does.”

Peter nodded his head just a fraction and then opened his mouth, lifting his tongue. Carefully, Tony placed the strip under his tongue and then tapped Peter’s chin, so he knew he should close his mouth. Peter did, closing his eyes right after.

“This should start working pretty fast. You’ll know when it does.”

Tony stood, then walked over to the chair he was sitting in earlier that night and took a seat. He felt too far away, so he got up and dragged the chair closer to the bed. The medication should work quickly, but there was no way to know how it would work with Peter’s metabolism. Would he need a higher dose? Would it help at all? Only time would tell. 

Tony checked his watch. It had been over ten minutes. He leaned toward Peter, taking him in. His shoulders didn’t look like they were shaking anymore, and his breathing had evened out. Tony was afraid to hope, but it seemed like it was working. 

Peter’s eyes moved under their lids, and Tony realized he’d slipped out to sleep. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ran his hand over his face, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. 

He needed to talk to Pepper before Morgan got up to fill her in. It was creeping up on five in the morning. Pepper was usually up by five-thirty. She liked to have a coffee and read before her day started. He felt bad that he was going to ruin that for her today. When Peter had first called, he’d told her a little, just enough to get by, but there was a lot she didn’t know, and he didn’t like leaving her out of the loop. She was his partner in everything and would never hide something from her, not for long anyway. 

Getting up, Tony paused by the side of the bed, ghosting his fingers over Peter’s temple before sighing and grabbing the Suboxone from the nightstand and leaving the room.

His first stop was the safe in the den. He scanned his hand and then stuck the medication inside, closing it back up. With that taken care of, he headed to the kitchen to make coffee. He needed something to fight back the creeping exhaustion. He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter in years, not since Morgan was teething. 

The clock on the stove told Tony that Pepper should be coming downstairs any minute, so he made her a coffee and then took it to the living room and set her cup on the table as he sipped his. The rich, earthy roast wrapped him in a familiar blanket of comfort. Caffeine was his only addiction these days, but years ago, before Pepper, fresh out of college, drugs were his best friend, easing the edges of expectation and the harsh reality of being born in his father’s shadow. 

He’d used drugs to ignore the world, to soften it, and make it easier to function. It was a skill Tony had, being able to be a functional alcoholic, a functional addict. He had the money to keep the drugs coming, to keep the booze flowing. It wasn’t until hitting rock bottom multiple times that he changed, and Afghanistan changed things, too. Aliens and Gods, those changed things, too. 

He still remembered the withdrawals, and he didn’t want that for Peter, but that ship had sailed. The kid was already suffering. If he could take it on himself, he would in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t, and maybe that was for the best. No matter how much Tony wanted to wrap him in cotton and protect him, Peter had made some decisions that carried consequences he would have to face. Tony just hoped it was enough, that he’d learn something from it all. Because, in the end, it was going to always be Peter’s decision to stay clean. He had to choose that for himself. 

The stair creaked, and Tony looked over his shoulder. Pepper was coming down the steps in her silk pajamas. She looked surprised at seeing him awake, her brows pinching together.

“What are you doing up? Please tell me you’ve slept.” She made her way to the living room and sat on the couch, folding one leg under herself. “Is that for me?” she asked, already reaching for the coffee. 

“Yeah, I knew you’d be up soon. It should still be hot. I just made it.”

She took a sip, humming to herself. “So, you didn’t answer my question. You wake up early, or are you still awake?”

Tony frowned, looking down into his cup before taking a sip. “Peter just fell asleep.”

She nodded, propping her head on her hand. “How are things with that? You didn’t say much last night.”

Scratching at the stubble on his cheek, he sighed. “It’s bad, Pep. He’s gotten himself into something, and I never saw it coming. I should have seen it coming.”

“Drugs?”

Tony scoffed. “Not just any drugs, Pep. Apparently, he took the saying go big or go home to heart. It’s heroin, Pep. The kid has been shooting up, and none of us saw it.”

Pepper sucked in a breath, then pressed her lips together tightly. “I can’t believe that Peter would do this.” She shook her head. “Does May know? Because this isn’t something we can keep from her. Where did he even get heroin? Jesus, Tony. This is too much.”

“Patrolling, from other druggies. I don’t know. Does it matter? He found a way to get them. And he wants me to tell her, wants me to tell May, but I haven’t figured out how to yet.”

“God, Tony, this is a mess. Are you sure he won’t try using here? What about Morgan? You really want an addict under the same roof as your daughter?”

“It’s not just an addict, Pep. It’s Peter. He wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t risk Morgan. We both know Peter would hurt himself before hurting her.”

“He might not mean to, though. Drugs change people, Tony.”

“I know, but Peter hasn’t been using too long from what I can tell. I think we caught it in time. He asked for help. He reached out. I can’t turn him away. This is the best place for him right now. If he’s in the city, he could just hit the streets and get a fix. The only thing around here is trees, and I’ve got him started on some medication to help. It should ease the cravings and withdrawal.”

Pepper let out a breath, rubbing her eyes and shaking her head. Dropping her hand, she met Tony’s gaze. “You sure you can handle this?”

“I don’t have another choice. I can’t fail him, not with this.”

“Okay, you have my support. I’ll follow your lead but promise me you won’t underestimate this. You know better than most what addiction can do to a person.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t think I could ever forget.”

* * *

Peter floated, everything felt calm, and the buzzing edge to his senses was dulled. He laid on the bed, mostly awake but keeping his eyes closed. He wanted to enjoy the feeling of warm sedation while it lasted. Slowly, though, the sensation faded, leaving him feeling closer to normal than he had been in a long time. 

Whatever the drug was that Tony had given him had worked well. It had let him sleep for a while from the look of it. The sun was shining in the window enough that it made Peter see color from behind his eyelids. 

Knowing he needed to get up soon, he rolled away from the window and scrubbed his gritty eyes. Dropping his hand, he pushed himself up on an elbow and looked at the clock on the nightstand for the time. It was almost noon. He’d slept longer than he thought. 

He wondered if Tony had gotten any sleep. He felt bad for keeping him awake all night, imposing on him and Pepper like a jerk. He shouldn’t have brought his problems to Tony. He should have tried harder, gone home, maybe even talked to May. As afraid of telling her as he was, he knew deep down that she wouldn’t be angry. If anything, she would blame herself. May always took on things that weren’t her fault. She’d carry the weight of the world if she could. May was just good like that. 

The sweat from the night before had dried, leaving his skin itchy and gross, and now that he was more awake, he could smell just how badly he needed a shower. 

Throwing the covers back, he climbed out of bed, nearly stubbing his toe on the chair next to the bed that used to be by the dresser. Tony must have dragged it closer in the night. He didn’t really notice before. He paused when he saw that there were clothes in the seat. It looked like a pair of sweats and a Stark Industries shirt. Beside those were a pair of Iron Man boxers, more expensive than they looked probably, the material silk. Figures that Tony would buy his own merch. On top of it were a plain pair of black socks. 

A small smile tugged at his lips as he realized Tony thought of everything. Grabbing the clothes, he padded to the bathroom. He considered telling Tony that he was up, but he figured since he'd left out the clothes, he’d be able to guess what Peter was doing. 

Besides, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. He wasn’t ready to face Tony and Pepper, though they were still easier than May. And the idea of hiding behind fake smiles with Morgan sickened him, like he was some kind of monster in disguise. It felt like he would taint her in some way by just being near her. He didn’t want his disease, his sickness, leaving dark smudges on her. She was too young to be around someone like him. Tony may not say the words, but Peter knew he was toxic. How could he not be?

Once his shower was done, and he was dressed, including the ridiculous boxers, he took a breath, ruffled his hair, and then made his way out of the room. 

The stairs betrayed him on the way down, the squeaking wood announcing his descent. Morgan must have heard it because she came barreling at him, wrapping her arms around his legs when he reached the bottom step. Instinctively, he placed his hand on her head and brushed back her hair. 

“Petey!” She looked up at him and smiled a toothy grin, still clutching his sides.

“Hey, Mo, good to see you, too, kiddo.” He carefully extracted himself from her hold but kept a hand on her head. “Is your dad around?”

Just then, Tony appeared from around the corner, a dishtowel over his shoulder. “I was just cleaning up from lunch. Nothing fancy, tuna sandwiches, but you should eat.”

Pepper appeared behind Tony, looking at Peter and then Morgan. Peter felt his stomach do a flip and then settle near his feet. Pepper wore a guarded look, a cautious look, and Peter knew Tony had told her. It was going to happen, he knew that, but it didn’t make him any more ready to face her judgment. His relationship with Pepper wasn’t as strong as his with Tony. It had only truly started forming months before being whisked away to Titan.

Things were going to change. Who was he kidding? They had changed. He could tell from the tight line of her mouth what she thought of him, the way her gaze switched between him and Morgan, but the final nail in the coffin was when she hurried forward and took Morgan’s hand, putting herself between Peter and her daughter. It hurt, but he couldn’t blame her. His choices spoke for themselves. 

“Come on, Sweetie, let’s go play outside,” Pepper guided her daughter from the room, glancing over her shoulder at Tony, eyes flicking to Peter and then back to her husband in silent conversation. Peter wondered what she was trying to say, then realized he didn’t want to know. Whatever she felt, whatever she thought, he probably deserved, but that didn’t mean he was strong enough to face it. 

Pepper and Morgan disappeared out the door, leaving Peter empty and alone, even though Tony was there. He wondered why Tony hadn’t bailed on him already. How close was he to his breaking point? Looking back, it was a surprise that he hadn’t drawn the line so many times before in the past twenty-four hours. 

“So, food?” Tony asked as he clearly forced a smile and gestured to the kitchen.

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to talk. He was feeling so many things. It seemed simpler to just stay silent and follow Tony’s lead. 

In the kitchen, Peter sat at the breakfast bar and watched Tony slather a slice of bread with tuna salad, slapping another slice of bread on top after. Then after flicking his gaze to Peter once, he patted it down a little flat before passing the plate to Peter. 

Peter set it on the counter in front of him. In truth, he was hungry. After spending so much time out looking for a fix and then coming to the lake house, then throwing up the tiny bit that might have lingered in his stomach, he was feeling a little faint. His blood sugar was probably tanking with his metabolism. 

He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed as he watched Tony put the things away, and then after rummaging in the fridge for a minute, he produced two juice boxes and set them next to Peter’s plate. 

“Sorry, it’s that or the weird ginseng tea Pepper made. We’re out of milk.”

Peter was demolishing his sandwich. He only had a bite left, and he really did need a drink. Popping the last of the sandwich in his mouth, he peeled the tiny straw off the box and opened it, sticking it in the foil-covered hole. He drank the first box so fast it buckled under the suction. Once he was slurping air, he moved onto the second box that Tony had set up for him. He drank that one more slowly.

Tony took his plate to the sink, and a heavy silence fell over them now that Peter wasn’t eating. 

Peter licked his lips, staring down at the box of juice like it held the answers to the universe itself. “Have you—I mean, did you tell May yet?”

“Not yet. I planned to earlier, but I got hung up talking to a clinic in the city.”

“About me?” Peter flicked his gaze up from the box to Tony.

Tony drew a deep breath, pausing as he wiped the counter. He kept his eyes on the rag in his hand. When he finally let the breath out, he tossed the cloth into the sink, and then turned to Peter, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah, it was about treatment plans. Whether we could do this privately or if it would be better to get you into a treatment program.”

Peter frowned. “I don’t want people to know.”

“It wouldn’t be people you know; it would be strangers. Either way, your starting therapy. That’s non-negotiable.”

Peter dropped his eyes back to the juice box as he picked at the glob of glue that once held the straw on the box. 

“That medicine helped last night,” Peter said, choosing to move on from the topic of therapy. He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t ready to spill his guts to anyone, let alone a stranger. He’d tried therapy after Ben had died, and it hadn’t gone well. Peter found himself lying and saying what the therapist wanted to hear, keeping his pain and grief to himself. It was something he carried with himself still. 

“I’m glad. How are you feeling now? I talked to Bruce, too. He was concerned that you might need more frequent dosing than a baseline human, so we’ll need to keep an eye on it.”

“That makes sense. I don’t feel much of anything right now, though. At least I don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, but I don’t feel high or anything either. Just kind of calm, I guess.”

Tony hummed. “Sounds like it’s doing its thing. That’s good news.” Sighing, Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. Dropping it, he met Peter’s gaze, eyes looking older and more tired than Peter thought they should. “I had something else I think we should talk about. Well, a few things, really.”

Swallowing, Peter flicked his gaze back down. “Like what?”

“Where you’re going to stay as we get this worked out and something that goes along with the therapy I mentioned. I know you can’t be completely honest about everything because of Spider-Man, but I think you should start attending NA meetings.”

Ignoring the question of where he would need to stay during the next few weeks, Peter directed his attention at the other half of Tony’s statement. “What’s NA stand for?”

Tony leaned against the counter, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Narcotics Anonymous. No one will know you. Hell, I don’t even care if you use your real name, Pete. I just think it would help. The people at the clinic recommended it. It helps hold you accountable, helps you be honest with yourself. There’s a lot more to it, but if you’re willing, we can learn about it together.”

Peter looked up at Tony. His juice box was empty now, and he passed it between his hands. “So, it’s like AA?”

“Yeah, but for narcotic users. Is that something you’re interested in?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. I don’t—I get to go by myself?”

He didn’t think he could share his innermost demons in meetings with Tony or May there listening. If he was doing this, he needed to be able to do it on his terms. 

“Of course. I can drive you, but I’ll wait in the car.”

“When are we …” He shrugged, tipping his head to the side.

“As soon as we can, I can check where the nearest meetings are, and we can plan to go to the soonest one. As much as I wish I could be everything you need to get through this, you’re going to need more support than I can offer. It’ll help to talk to others who have been there.”

Nodding, Peter slid off the stool and walked over to the trash, dropping his crumpled juice box in and then slinking out of the kitchen. He had a lot to think about. The road to getting better wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that. But it was scary to face the changes and tasks ahead. He had a long way to go, and he had barely begun the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guys, I have tried to end this in a way that can sorta be an end because I just don't know how much more I have in me for this. I keep changing my mind if I want to expand more. I see that I could. but for now, it's staying marked complete because as a one-shot type thing, it could be seen as done. though that said. I might still add another chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)


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